An Angel's Lament
by AnAngel'sKiss
Summary: Takes place after the Opera. Shilo stumbles through the city, lost and alone. Who she's looking for is a certain Graverobber. Who she finds instead... OC, Possible Shilo/Graverobber in later chapters. Rated M for language, themes, and because it's Repo!
1. Chapter 1

_Finally, after much urging, I've decided to share this story with more than just the one rabid Repo! fan who is my friend (Love ya, Pixie). Sadly, I do not own Repo! or any of its related characters, I just own the one OC, or maybe she owns me..._

_I'll try to update often, most of the fic has been written already and just needs some tightening up before publishing. Please read and review, I'm a big fan of constructive criticism and of course, praise! _

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"Why did I ever want to go outside… the world is crazy." Shilo had walked out of the Opera with her head held high, marching into the bright lights of the paparazzi's cameras, looking like a young woman who could take over the world. Now she was flinching at shadows, trying not to shriek every time she caught movement out of the corner of her eye.

All she had wanted was to go home… no, that wasn't true. All she had wanted was her father back, but she would settle for going home, crawling into bed and not coming out from under the covers for a week, or forever. But her home had been covered in crime scene tape and crawling with Gencops, she couldn't go back, not yet and maybe not ever.

"I don't want GeneCo!" Shilo had wanted to scream at them, but she knew better than to alert them to her presence. The Largo family was insane, she had seen that firsthand; they would never believe that she wouldn't want the power and the privilege that owning GeneCo would bring her.

Unable to go home, Shilo had been wandering the streets for what must have been hours but felt like days, heart pounding wildly at every sound, eyes darting nervously back and forth. No one bothered her and she didn't realize that it was because she was covered in her father's blood and mumbling to herself. If she had been asked where she was going she would have said she didn't know, but the fourth time she had walked past a graveyard and found herself peering into the depths she realized that she was looking for someone. For _him._

"He's a drug dealer, he lurks in alleys and he smells horrible. But he made sure I got home safely before. He's no knight on a white horse but he still might help me…" Help her what? Help her live in this terribly frightening world, this place devoid of safety and family?

Shilo kept walking, afraid to stop, not knowing if it would be _safe_ to stop. The night's events had utterly exhausted her, all she wanted to do was sleep, forget, but still her feet kept moving, one in front of the other, over the cracked pavement. After a while she realized that she was walking through an unfamiliar graveyard, ears straining, hoping to hear his voice maybe, his careless whistle, or even the smack of a Zydrate gun against a corpse's flesh. Instead she heard something entirely different.

Someone was singing in the graveyard, a trembling soprano voice filled with tears, faltering every so often on the higher notes, stumbling over the words. Shilo recognized the song instantly for all of the flaws in its singing. It was about an angel who lived in a shining Heaven, happy and content until the day the Devil burned Heaven down around her, broke her wings and threw her down to the cold and desolate Earth, robbed of family and home. It was a song that never failed to make Shilo cry whenever Blind Mag sang it, but she didn't cry as she walked a little faster, determined to find the owner of that voice.

The first rays of the morning sun were starting to fight through the layer of smog that enveloped the city, making the singer sitting on the gravestone clearly visible to Shilo's tired eyes. A woman of course, face turned toward the rising sun as she sang with her eyes closed. As Shilo watched, a tear trickled down the woman's cheek, running along an old scar that wasn't quite as white as the flesh surrounding it. She was wearing black, as if she had been trying to blend in with the night, or as if she were in mourning. The clothes were old and worn, the leather duster that half covered a button down shirt and jeans fit oddly across the shoulders and back and Shilo wondered if the woman was hiding some sort of deformity.

Shilo stopped several feet away from the young woman, wondering if she should say something or if she should just turn away and keep walking until she found the person she was _really_ looking for.

'_Careful Shi, just because she's sad doesn't mean she's isn't dangerous._' Her father's voice whispered a warning inside her head and Shilo ignored it, just as she tried to ignore the pain that came with thinking about her father. She was so tired and it was equal parts instinct and hope made her believe that the woman might be okay to talk to, might know of a place where she could rest for a little while.

"That's Blind Mag's song, isn't it?" Shilo asked when the woman had finished singing, her voice breaking the sudden silence like the chirping of a baby bird. She wasn't sure what reaction she had been expecting, surprise certainly, but not for the woman to reach for a scalpel at her belt even before she opened her eyes to see who was addressing her, not for lips pulled back into a snarl for half a moment before turning upwards into a bitter smile.

"I was wondering how long it would take for it to happen." The woman laughed, a sharp, ugly sound that ended quickly as she put the scalpel away. "I should have known it would be Mag's death that sent me over the edge… well, _more_ over the edge I guess I should say." The woman ran a hand through her short and spiky red hair, a gesture of agitation. "It would be _you_ that came to me, covered in her blood. I tried to rescue her from him, Marni, you know I tried, until she pleaded with me to stop."

Shilo's exhausted brain tried to make sense of what the woman was saying. 'Mom? She thinks I'm Mom?' Had many people had told her she looked like her mother? Rotti, Mag, her father…

"I'm not Mom!!" Shilo screamed, fury boiling through her, sudden and hot. "I'm not Mom!! I can go outside! I don't have a blood disease! It was Dad making me sick!" It felt like something inside her was being torn apart as she fell to her knees, sobbing. "I'm not dead! I'm alive! I'm ALIVE!"

"Blood pressure warning, medicate immediately." The cuff around Shilo's wrist imparted its message for the last time as Shilo ripped it off and hurled it away, listening for the satisfying crunching sound as it shattered against a gravestone. Shilo was *so* tired, and she didn't fight it when she felt her eyes slip closed. 'Sleep', Shilo thought as she slumped into the cool grass of the graveyard. 'Sleep will make everything better.'


	2. Chapter 2

Angel tilted her head to the side, studying the girl passed out in front of her with eyes that were both curious and distant. "Do I know you? Not Marni? Are you sure? You look like her." She felt she was missing something, something important. Ever since the _fire smoke screaming darkness despair silence glow_ her thoughts were mostly fragments, sanity and lucidity things that came and went. When she actually managed to focus on something though, little could deter her.

A name came to her, an impossible name. "Shilo? But you can't be, she died, Marni died, Mag said…" _Mag, oh god, Mag, eyeless and smiling as the blood ran down her cheeks, arms reaching out, free at last, and then the fall… _ Angel remembered standing in the street with the rest of the crowd, watching the Opera on a television screen in a store window. Screaming, she had been screaming, and had she run then? She must have run, otherwise how had she ended up in the graveyard?

"Focus," Angel mumbled, shaking her head as if to clear it, the name she had been thinking of already lost. "The girl. The girl is important." She knelt in the grass, lifting one thin, pale arm. Despite the girl's insistence that she wasn't sick, it was obvious to Angel that she wasn't in the best of shape, blood aside. A pulse beat under her fingers, steady and strong and a cursory examination made Angel realize that the blood the girl was covered in was most likely not her own.

"I don't suppose you could wake up and walk for about 15 minutes or so? No? That would be too convenient, wouldn't it?" Angel sighed, her lips twisting into a smirk as she tried to figure out what would attract more attention; carrying a bloodstained girl through the streets or wrapping the girl in her coat and revealing what she usually tried so very hard to conceal.

"People should be used to the sight of blood, after all the city is covered in it." Angel took the girl in her arms, surprised at how very little she weighed, like she was barely there at all.

"Just a slip of a girl, lost in the world," Angel sang softly as she headed for home. The streets were filled with people, their voices washing over Angel, a sea of words through which she swam. She could hear the undercurrents of tension, panic, noticed that there were more GenCops on the street than was normal.

"They'll be rioting soon," Angel muttered. "This can't be just because of Mag, can it?" She tried to focus on the voices around her, to make sense of the words slipping in and out of her ears, but the voices of the crowd were too chaotic to make out much more than a few names. "Blind Mag, Rotti, Shilo."

"That's who you are, isn't it? Shilo. Shilo, Shilo, Shilo," Angel chanted, as if that would help the name stick in her mind. She was still whispering the name as she entered the rundown apartment building that was her home, making her way carefully down the steps to her basement apartment. It was an easy task for her to shift Shilo's weight to one arm as she fished in her coat pocket for her keys, her fingers brushing a thin envelope as she did so. Angel wondered where it had come from for a moment before shaking her head. She'd deal with it later, what was important was taking care of the girl, of Shilo.

Angel looked around the dark apartment, eyes resting on an old beat up couch for a moment before she shook her head. It was certainly large enough for such a small girl as Shilo, but it just didn't feel right. Instead she headed toward her own bedroom, laying Shilo down on her very large bed, unlacing the girl's boots and peeling off her bloodstained clothing. She left the room for a moment, returned with a damp washcloth and scrubbed off the worst of the blood before she awkwardly dressed Shilo in one of her old button down shirts. Through it all Shilo slept, not offering as much as a whimper of protest as Angel tucked her into bed.

Angel gazed down at the sleeping girl with an almost tender expression on her face. "You do look a lot like your mother," she whispered. Her thoughts jumped again, from Shilo to Marni, from Marni to Mag, her sweet Mag…

Angel turned away, closing the bedroom door behind her as she left, her hand clutching the envelope in her pocket. With a sigh she walked down the hallway, shrugging off her coat and throwing it over a battered armchair as she went, tossing the envelope onto a glass coffee table clouded over with dust. With a groan she gave the aching muscles of shoulders and back a good stretch before sitting down on the couch, leaning over and unlacing her worn leather boots. Straitening up slightly she shifted her weight, trying to get comfortable without thinking about the reason _why_ she was uncomfortable, the mistake she had been paying for every single day since— _Fire, oh no, please no, gone, all gone, ashes…_

Remote in hand, Angel stared at the dark television. The news was usually unreliable at best; outright lies at worst, but it would be hours before she could find out what happened at the Opera from more trustworthy sources. Frowning, she switched on the television and adjusted the volume to a low murmur before picking up the envelope, turning it over in hands. Her name was written on the front, the flowing cursive script familiar to her. Slowly she tore the envelope open, struggling to remember just where she had gotten it from in the first place…


	3. Chapter 3

CRASH!

The sound of breaking glass catapulted Shilo out of sleep and uneasy dreams, her eyes opening wide for a moment before she sat up in bed. She gasped as she took in several things at once, the fact that the bed she lay in was not her own, that she had been cleaned and dressed. Her hand moved to her throat for a moment, wrapping itself around her mother's necklace for comfort.

"Did the woman from the graveyard bring me here?" Shilo whispered. She eased her way out of the bed, her bare feet cold on the concrete floor as she stepped over the pile of her bloody clothes, the shirt she was wearing brushing against her knees. She hesitated when she got to the closed door, one hand resting on the knob. She didn't hear anything; had the crash she heard just been part of her dream?

"NO! He—" The words were muffled by the door and Shilo pressed her ear to the wood. There was a sound, something between laughter and screaming, breaking glass again, then silence.

Shilo backed away, looking for another way out. Had the Gencops followed the woman here, were they looking for her? Was the woman herself wanted maybe? She had been in a graveyard after all, maybe she was a graverobber. There was a window set near the ceiling, small but large enough for someone as petite as Shilo to slip through. She could stand on the dresser, hoist herself up and escape. But to where, to what?

Silence from outside the room. Surely if there were Gencops there would be more noise? The heavy tread of boots on the floor at the very least? Her curiosity aroused, Shilo opened the door a crack, peeking out into the short hallway beyond. If she listened very hard she could hear mumbling punctuated every so often by the _tink, tink_ sound of glass hitting the floor.

"I made it out of the Opera; surely I can make it down this hallway," Shilo whispered to herself. Silently she crept forward, barely breathing as she reached the end of the hallway and found herself in the living room proper.

A battered old couch blocked most of Shilo's view, but she could still see and smell the smoke that drifted up from a broken television, even if she couldn't see how it had been broken from where she was standing. The mumbling seemed to be coming from the couch and Shilo inched closer.

"Couldn't save her, told me to stay away, tried to keep me safe. The devil's claws in her, contract signed in blood. I can still hear him laughing. He'd dead, why can I hear him--- I wouldn't come any closer Shilo, there's broken glass everywhere."

Shilo squeaked in surprise when the woman from the graveyard addressed her, backing up a few steps. "How—how did you know my name?"

"Your name means 'gift,' did you know that? That's what you were to her, a gift." There was a pause. "You're Marni's daughter." It sounded almost like a question. "Nathan's daughter." The woman's voice was almost flat, just the tiniest of tremors betraying any emotion.

"Y-yes." Shilo stared at the back of the couch, eyes fixed on the only part of the woman she could see, a bit of red hair that kept bobbing in and out of her vision. "Are… are you okay?"

The woman laughed, a harsh and bitter sound that made Shilo want to simultaneously comfort her and run for the door. "I haven't been okay in years kid, but this indeed is not one of my better days. Do me a favor? Go back down the hallway, first door on your right, and grab the first aid kit under the sink? And maybe you could hurry. I slammed my fist through the coffee table and I think I've been bleeding quite a bit while we've been talking."

Shilo gasped, taking another half step toward to the couch before changing her mind and dashing down the hallway, in her haste turning left instead of right. She only had the briefest impression of the bedroom she found herself in, clothes scattered everywhere, mattress on the floor, strange smells, before she reversed direction and found the bathroom.

When Shilo thought "first aid kit," she thought of something small, plastic, orderly, not a battered and frayed messenger bag filled with a jumble of miscellaneous medical supplies. At just a glance she could see gauze, syringes wrapped in plastic, and bottles of what she was sure was animal tranquilizer. Brow furrowed slightly, she slung the bag over her shoulder and rushed back into the living room… and stopped dead.

The woman was standing in the middle of the kitchen, half turned toward Shilo, holding a white (slowly becoming red) towel around her right hand. She had rolled back her shirtsleeves, revealing arms a bit more muscular than Shilo was used to on a woman, but it wasn't the blood or muscles that made Shilo gape in astonishment. She blinked, sure that what she was seeing was impossible, some strange sort of costume perhaps, or a trick of the light fooling her brain somehow. The back of the woman's shirt was cut low, allowing _wings_, feathery white real looking _wings _to lie against the woman's back. As Shilo watched they twitched, stretching wide for a moment before settling themselves again.

"It's rude to stare," The woman snapped as she settled herself sideways into a chair at a kitchen table that was covered with stains and gouges that went deeply into the wood. "Just fancy surgery, that's all it is." She unwrapped her hand from the towel and Shilo winced at the sight. Her hand was covered in cuts, most of which looked like they could be taken care of easily with some bandages, but the wound in the side of her palm was an entirely different story. The bleeding had slowed but Shilo could see that the cut went deep into the meat of her palm

"You're going to need stitches," Shilo said, trying to wrench her eyes away from the blood.

"Then I hope that your father taught you how to sew, kid, because that's the only way it's going to get done, my left hand is fairly useless at that kind of thing. There should be stuff you can use in that bag." The woman stood again and walked over to the sink. Shilo heard water running and more than a few choice curse words, but she was again distracted by the wings which kept twitching every few seconds. She made sure to avert her eyes when the woman turned around again to rummage in the fridge, coming back to the table with a bottle of vodka. "Open this for me?"

Shilo obliged, grimacing at the smell of the alcohol as she did so, causing the woman to chuckle softly. "Believe me, it tastes about as bad as it smells. Still, can't complain." She knocked back a swallow as she held her injured hand out to Shilo.

Shilo had searched through the bag, surprised to find several small packages containing absorbable pre-threaded sutures. _Where did she find these? Who keeps these on hand? Then again…_ Now that the woman was closer she could see that her arms were covered in scars. Some of them had the shiny, twisted look of old burns, but there were ones near her wrist that looked like they had been stitched up in a hurry once upon a time by someone who lacked experience. "I used to practice making stitches when I was younger, on my stuffed animals. I wanted to be a doctor when I grew up." _Like Dad._ She remembered him smiling at her, admiring her skill with the needle and thread. It was a fond memory, but Shilo sadly realized that at the moment even fond memories of her father hurt. "I don't think—"

"Don't think. Pretend I'm a teddy bear you're practicing on if it makes you feel any better. Just hurry, if you can. I'm thinking clearly now and there's things I want to tell you. I don't know how long I —just try your best."

Shilo nodded as she got up and washed her hands before opening the package and picking up the threaded needle. Taking a deep breath to calm herself and steady her nerves, she began to sew.

_Yes, Angel has had a most… unconventional surgery. More about that in time… Eager to see what people think, so please review! As always I don't own Repo! or anything besides Angel and this delicious cup of hot chocolate. _


	4. Chapter 4

_Meant to have this posted earlier this week, but came down with the stomach flu which combined with lack of inspiration made it hard to write. But here it is now, long awaited update! Next update should involve everyone's favorite Zydrate dealer, hooray!_

_I'm making no money off this fanfic, and I own nothing except for Angel, a large collection of Fangoria, and this shiny laptop. As always, constructive criticism and gushing praise always welcome! :p_

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Angel managed to hold her hand steady as Shilo stitched, even though the angle was awkward and the pain rather intense. She took another hit of vodka before pushing the bottle away, not wanting to dull her mind too much with the burning liquid. She felt remarkably clear headed for once, though the pain made her think of another time and another place.

_The wooden stage was hard under her feet, her muscles trembling with pain and fatigue as she sweated under the hot lights. The leather of her costume clung tightly to her skin as she danced, as she sang. She could not see the audience through the glare of the lights, but she could hear their applause and she smiled. The pain, the rehearsals, it was all worth it just for that sound; another successful performance at the Night Ballet._

"Are you all right?"

Angel blinked, feeling a single tear run down her cheek as she looked at Shilo. The girl was concentrating on her work, not looking at her, her stitches small and neat. It was the second time Shilo had asked Angel that question that morning.

"You're not really asking if I'm all right. You want to know if you're safe with me. You want to know if I'm crazy." Angel wiped away the tear before Shilo could see it. "There's no easy answer to that question, Shilo. I will tell you you're safer here than you would be out on the streets, alone."

"I just meant that this must hurt, is all. You were breathing awfully hard, I thought you might be going into shock. I'll try to go faster."

"Don't rush on my account, I can take it. You're doing a pretty good job there, Shi."

The girl flinched, accidently pulling the thread a little tighter than need be. "Sorry!" she squeaked. It's just that…Dad called me 'Shi.'"

And Nathan was dead, Angel remembered suddenly. She wasn't the only one who had lost a loved one at the Opera. "Shit, I didn't know. Sorry."

"It's all right," Shilo replied, the slight trembling of her voice giving away the lie. Angel said nothing, just watched the needle slide in and out of her flesh for a few more moments before Shilo tied a knot and cut off the excess thread. "Finished."

"I appreciate it." Angel began to bandage the other cuts on her hand, stealing a glance at Shilo as she did so. The girl was pale, her eyes sunken, weary. "I'm sorry for waking you up, I know you haven't got near enough sleep, and I'm sorry for scaring you. I don't always handle my anger very well and I just can't believe that Mag's…" She took a deep breath and pushed her grief aside for a moment. "There's things I could tell you kid, but not today. Let's just focus on what's important. Shilo? You know you can't go home, right?"

Shilo nodded. "I tried, but there were Gencops everywhere. It's not even like I want to live there again, not after--- but I would have at least liked to have some of my clothes and things."

Angel nodded. "It's not safe for you to be seen right now. Rotti named you his heir on live television and though he never signed the will the ownership of GeneCo is still being disputed as we speak, or so the news told me."

"I don't want it." The anger in Shilo's voice doesn't surprise Angel in the least.

"I wouldn't worry about that, you're not going to get it. It's going to be either Luigi or Amber, my personal guess would be Amber. She's an addict, true, but she can be quite charismatic and I suspect she might even have a few brains under all that cosmetic surgery." Angel shook her head. "It hardly matters, either way they'll most likely want you dead, just to be absolutely sure you don't try to take GeneCo or cause them trouble in some other way."

Shilo had turned even whiter than usual; the girl looked like she was about to faint.

"Sorry kid, I'm not one of those people who believes in 'softening the blow.' The truth is you're going to have to lay low for awhile, keep off their radar. Hell, with any luck they might even believe you died on the street, it would certainly be believable. You can stay here with me… unless you have somewhere else you can go."

Shilo shook her head. "Dad kept me in the house all my life, I didn't get to meet a lot of people, and most of them are--- are dead, except for Graverobber."

"Well, I'm not Graverobber, though I know him," Angel smirked as she said that. "I'm just Angel. I'm not what most people would consider sane, my memory doesn't work right, and I have a temper that occasionally rivals Luigi Largo. But I'll never hurt you Shilo, and I'll keep you as safe as I can, if only because you're connected to someone I considered a friend, and someone else I loved so very much." She closed her eyes for a moment, fighting exhaustion and grief in equal measure.

"You knew Mom." It wasn't a question. "That's how you knew my name."

"I did, for all too brief a time, know your mother, and your godmother. I could tell you stories… but not today. You need to go back to bed, get some _real_ sleep, and I need to clean up this mess and take something for the pain so _I_ can sleep." Angel felt her wings twitching, little spasms that seemed to happen whenever she was tired and stressed. Shilo's eyes were wide, fascinated.

"Don't look at me like that," Angel snapped. "It's just fancy surgery kid, a mistake that I've been paying for every day since I went under the knife."

"Sorry." Shilo's voice was a whisper as she got up. "Thank you for um… cleaning me up." There was just the faintest blush to her cheeks.

"Couldn't have you getting blood on my bed. Don't worry kid, you got nothing I haven't seen before." Angel slowly stood, feeling a bit nauseous, probably from blood loss or drinking vodka on an empty stomach. "When you're ready, only when you're ready, I'd like to know more about you and about what happened last night."

Shilo just nodded and Angel could practically see the grief and sorrow settling around the poor girl, an almost crushing weight that Angel knew all too well. "And I might be a little… confused when I wake up, so don't be scared, okay? You might just have to remind me who you are."

"It's the pain, isn't it? Pain helps you focus, keeps you lucid."

"It helps sometimes, and that's all I'm going to say. Go on, go back to bed. You need something to help you sleep?"

"No. No drugs, I've had enough of that."

Angel arched her eyebrows at the anger in Shilo's voice. "Okay then. Sleep well." She turned away, heading into the kitchen and fetching a dustpan and broom. She heard Shilo's footsteps as she walked back to her room and shut the door; only then did she let the tears flow, let the weakness pour out of her. Half blinded by tears she swept up the broken glass, fishing out the pages of a letter as she did so, leaving the blood spattered missive on the kitchen table.

"I should have killed him myself," Angel muttered as she walked into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet, her tone unconsciously slipping into something like song. "I wanted to, Mag, I wanted to kill him, I wanted to save you. You begged me to go, to live my life for you. I shouldn't have listened, I should have tried harder. All I have left are mistakes and regrets; a cold corpse that offers no comfort."

The medicine cabinet was filled with bottles of pills, the labels bearing a variety of names. The Vicodin was an old friend; Angel swallowed two as she walked back out into the hallway. For a moment she just leaned against the wall, staring hard at the room across the way. "You better be all right, now is *so* not the time to get caught."

Angel turned back towards the living room, planning on trying to make herself comfortable on the couch, as hard as that would be for her. Then the sound of muffled sobs reached her ears and made her sigh heavily. "The world has shown you nothing but pain Shilo Wallace, and I have no comfort to offer you. Still, I always was a decent actress." She shook her head as she entered the bedroom, closing the door behind her and slipping into bed. She wrapped her arms around the poor lost girl, whispered all manner of comforting lies to her; 'pain fades, time heals all wounds, everything will be all right,' etc. Soon enough the girl stopped crying and the Vicodin wrapped Angel in its comforting, numbing embrace.


	5. Chapter 5

Even before the Opera Graverobber had felt it, a subtle pressure like a thunderstorm building, a restless city looking for release. After the bloodbath that was the Opera he knew it was only a matter of time before the shock wore off and the riots started. Yelling and looting were very cathartic after all and he would have been more than happy to join in except for the fact that Gencops were swarming the streets, trying and failing to control the crowd. He had been running for hours, at least that was how it felt to him, fighting against the tide of the mobs of people and trying to keep out of the Gencops' sight. What he wanted most was a hot shower and a good morning's sleep, both of which were finally almost at hand. Just a stroll through New Hope cemetery and a few blocks later he would be home.

Not many people knew Graverobber even had a place he called home, someplace other than a dumpster or a filthy room in some run down and forgotten building. He had learned long ago that a little mystery was a good thing and that people enjoyed showmanship. So he wore makeup to accentuate his already pale skin, to draw attention to his eyes and lips, make himself exotic and threatening. He dyed his hair, wore a long coat, and wove a web of words and smiles that had the addicts positively panting over him. People told stories about him around trashcan fires at night, fantastic stories that only sometimes contained truth. There was some small power in that, the fact that people saw him as more than a man, as something to be adored and feared. Let them think that, if they liked.

The benefit of living on the fringes of Sanitarium City was that security could be rather lax at the best of times. Combined with the fact that cemeteries normally were only lightly guarded during the day meant that Graverobber had no problem getting into the cemetery. The crunching of the gravel pathways under his boots was the only sound; he had too much on his mind for his usual light-hearted whistle.

The Opera had changed everything. Rotti Largo was dead and Graverobber had to admit that the inevitable power struggle between the man's offspring for control of GeneCo would probably prove to be interesting. He was betting on Amber to win that particular battle, master manipulator that he knew her to be. It was an amusing thought, but he had no real hope that anything would change for the better under her management.

Mag was gone, and that was tragic for several reasons, but it wasn't like he had exactly had a personal attachment to the talented soprano. He had run into her a time or two, in the very cemetery he was standing in, by the particular monument that he found himself standing in front of now. It depicted an angel with her head held high, the statue eroded slightly by time and acid rain but still standing proudly for all of that, the words etched on the base still legible. It was a memorial to those who had died in an explosion 17 years ago at a place called the Night Ballet, followed by a list of names that was much too long, and a quote.

"_I don't regret what I do, collecting the souls of those who die. That is my function, my purpose. The reason I mourn is not for their death but for the unfulfilled potential, the unrequited love, the unrealized dream. I mourn what might have been, and what will never be."---The Grim Reaper's Lament_

Graverobber looked up at the angel, still impressed that they had used some sort of synthetic stone to make it look like there were tears on the angel's face. He knew that face well, knew the creator of the quote, the young girl who had delivered those lines. He placed his hand on the stone, already warm from the sun. "I keep meaning to chisel your name off of there," he said to the angel above him. "After all, you didn't actually die that night." The smirk that came to his lips was bitter, twisted with self-loathing. "That came later, when you lost her again. What will you do now that she is truly gone? Do you even know what happened? You left before I got up last night. Did you hear her announcement, did you see her death? Maybe you didn't. Maybe Amber will kick Zydrate, find religion, and become a nun. Anything is possible."

Graverobber ran a hand through his multi-colored hair as he made a sound that was half laughter and half sigh, walking towards home. He was stalling, how very unlike him. He had to admit that his roommate wasn't the only person he had been keeping an eye out for all night. The kid kept slipping into his thoughts. She had stood up to Rotti Largo, refused a fortune and lost her father before disappearing from the paparazzi's cameras. He didn't like to think of such an innocent girl wandering the streets alone. Shilo was a rare individual, different from himself, different from the scalpel sluts and the endless parade of Z addicts he normally dealt with. The difference was… appealing.

"Home sweet home," Graverobber muttered as he finally came within sight of the apartment building, heading inside and down the stairs to the basement. He rather liked the privacy living in the basement afforded him and it meant the occasional noise from his roommate's rages didn't draw any unwanted attention. The rent was manageable, especially since the landlord seemed happy to be paid with whatever Graverobber had to offer that month, whether it was Zydrate or cash.

As he opened the door he was hit with a memory so strong that for a moment he could almost see it. Her lifeless body sprawled on the floor, glowing blue tears trickling from half open eyes, the faint rise and fall of her chest stopping as she watched… Guilt twisted briefly inside him as he shoved that memory back into the dark corner of his mind from which it had come. The first real thing he saw when he looked around was the broken television, a black steel-toed boot sticking out of the screen. He was so relieved that it wasn't anything worse that he almost laughed even though he was mildly angry.

"Damn it Angel, I'm not going to go through the trouble of scavenging perfectly good televisions if you keep breaking them. If you want another one it's your turn to find one and lug it home…." His voice trailed off when he moved further into the room and saw the remains of the coffee table and the blood on the broken shards of glass. He scanned the room, quick strides talking him to the kitchen table.

"First-aid bag, bandages, empty suture packet, so she at least tried to fix herself up. Vodka bottle, not the best of signs. Blood stained letter…" He read the first few lines. "Oh shit." He raised his voice, ""Angel?" Graverobber called as he headed down the hallway. "Angel? Are you all right?"

Her bedroom door opened and Angel slipped out, leaning against the doorframe for support as she closed the door behind her. She was still dressed, her clothes lightly stained with blood, one hand stitched and bandaged. She looked up at him, her eyes cloudy and slightly unfocused. "Quiet, you'll wake her up."

Angel speaking in the third person wasn't terribly odd and Graverobber had more pressing concerns. "What did you take Angel? How many?" For whatever reasons the woman rarely lied to him, something he was very grateful for, especially at that moment.

"Vicodin. Two." She held up three bandaged fingers and blinked at them for a moment before tucking one under her thumb, indeed making the count two. "Not enough to kill me. Two."

"Didn't wash those down with the vodka on the kitchen table, did you?"

Angel rolled her eyes. "Course not." Her speech was a trifle slurred. "Have to live now. She wanted me to live, to take care of…" She closed her eyes for a moment. "I forget. Tired."

Graverobber sighed as he took her injured hand, examining it for a moment before letting it go. It looked like she was fine, for lack of a better word. His face twisted into something that was half pained smile and half leer. "You remember what happens if you kill yourself, right?" It was the start of an old joke between them, black humor being better than no humor at all.

"You'll violate me, harvest my Zydrate and drag me outside to be eaten by crows and wild dogs." She smiled faintly. "Good to have you home."

"Good to _be _home. Go back to bed, I need a shower." He was both relieved and exhausted now, a quick shower and then several hours sleep sounded wonderful to him. Hell, he might even sleep in; take it easy for a day or so until the city settled down again.

Angel nodded agreement and retreated back to her bedroom. For a moment he could hear her talking to herself, the words muffled by the door, then silence. Not for the first time Graverobber remembered how Angel used to be, contrasting it with how she was now. He shook his head, as if that could clear it of the memories or the guilt. "Shower. Shower and sleep."

The hot water felt good but he didn't let himself enjoy it for very long, just washed off the makeup and sweat as quickly as possible before stepping out of the shower, humming to himself as he toweled off. Was that a sound from the hallway? Nah, even it was it was only Angel and she never cared if he was dressed or not. He turned around, towel over his shoulders… and looked straight into the wide eyes of young Shilo Wallace.

"WHAT ARE _YOU _ DOING HERE?" They both screamed simultaneously as Graverobber scrambled to cover himself.

"I live here!" Graverobber looked at the kid, who somehow looked smaller and frailer than last time he saw her. The fact that she wore one of Angel's old shirts didn't help, the thing was practically falling off of her and wasn't that a pleasant mental image?

"Well I--!" Shilo's yell turned into a whisper. "I live here too, I guess. Angel found me, or I found her. She invited me to stay."

"She did? Huh." Graverobber tied the towel he had been clutching to himself firmly around his waist, watching a blush come to Shilo's cheeks. "Did she know who you were? Because if you talked to her for more than five minutes you might have noticed that she occasionally holds conversations with people who aren't visible, or aren't alive. She's not… all there some of the time. Which is a nice way of saying occasionally she goes psychotic when she's not having conversations with the voices in her head or staring at the wall."

"She thought I was my… my mother at first, but she knew who I was when she asked me. Do you… do you not want me here?" Shilo's eyes filled with tears. "I don't have anywhere else to go."

"Oh shit kid, I didn't mean it like that. Fuck, don't cry." Without thinking he stepped forward and hugged her. "You can stay, all right?" _Because that's just what I need, one crazy woman and one emotionally damaged girl living in the same space._ Still, he couldn't help but smile slightly as Shilo stopped crying and looked up at him. At least his life was never boring.

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_As always, I don't own Repo! just Angel. Reviews, constructive criticism and thoughts on life, the universe, and everything always appreciated!_


	6. Chapter 6

_I know, I know, I haven't updated in FOREVER. Life has been interesting, found a girl, lost the girl, lost my muse, took up knitting again, and sadly have been writing less.. Sometimes I think there would be more updates if my thoughts could go directly on the computer without all the pesky typing. :p. So here's something to tide everyone over while I get the next chapter into shape. Thanks to all my fans for being patient!_

_As always I don't own Repo! all I own is Angel, some fabulous hand-knit socks, and this cup of rose petal tea._

A blood stained letter, sitting on a kitchen table, written in large, flowing, cursive script.

_Dearest Angel,_

_ I left this letter by the monument in New Hope Cemetery, it was the only way I knew to try and reach you. By the time you read this I'll have taken my own life. I just couldn't wait any longer hoping that Rotti might eventually die of old age. I couldn't keep waking up and wondering if this was the day that Amber's jealously would win out over her common sense, that Luigi's rage would fatally be directed toward me, or that Pavi's awe of my beauty would finally be outweighed by his desire to steal my face._

_ Most of all, I couldn't spend another day not free to go where I wished, or to love whom I pleased. I couldn't spend another night in my velvet cage of a room dreading the moments when Rotti would knock on my door._

_ I wanted to go out on my own terms, and hopefully I have. I put off making the announcement of my retirement until the last possible moment, knowing that if you heard you might try to do something drastic. _

_My life wasn't worth saving Angel, I tried to tell you that. Even if Rotti had released me from my contract free and clear, I could never be that wicked giggling girl you knew so long ago. My soul's been tainted and worn down by years of abuse, you never could have loved me the way you once did, not when I stopped loving myself years ago._

_ I've told you before Angel, live your life for me. Hold me in your heart if you must, but move on, for your own sake if for nothing else. Living in the past can destroy you, I know this all too well. Remember Marni's daughter Shilo? She's alive and Nathan has been hiding her all these years in that tomb of a house, suffocating her with her mother's memory. Promise me that you'll look in on her, get her out of that house as much as you can, I know you have ways of getting into places you shouldn't. Help her to realize her dreams, whatever they may be._

_ I wish things could have ended differently for the both of us. Know this my sweet angel; I loved you 'till the last._

_-Magdalene_


	7. Chapter 7

_Getting more new fans and reviews, hooray! Thanks for adding me to your story/author alerts, it encourages me to keep on writing! As always, I don't own anyone except Angel, this laptop, and my beloved Bag of Holding._

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When Shilo had thought, in those confused post Opera hours when she had been wandering the streets, about what it might be like to live with Graverobber, she had imagined something completely different than what she was experiencing. Her mind had conjured up an almost romanticized image of living on the streets, sleeping in dumpsters and scrounging for food, staying one step ahead of the Gencops, a rough life. Instead she was sitting in a chair at a kitchen table, safe for the moment while the smells of warm food and the sound of Graverobber's humming filled the air. It felt like a dream, something not quite real that might vanish at any moment.

"I'm not hungry," Shilo said again. Truth be told she wasn't feeling very well at all; she couldn't seem to stop shaking and she felt nauseous. She closed her eyes and put her head in her hands. _I'm not sick, I'm not sick, I'm not sick. _Shilo heard the beep of the microwave and something being put down on the table moments before she felt his hand tilt her chin up. When she opened her eyes he was looking back at her with an expression that Shilo had trouble deciphering.

"You should still eat something. Keep your strength up." Graverobber pushed the bowl of soup towards her and settled back into the chair across from her. He was tired, she could see that quite clearly, and yet there he was, smiling like nothing was wrong.

Shilo picked up her spoon and stirred the soup idly, it looked like chicken noodle soup, though whether or not the meat was chicken was a good question. It probably would have smelt good if she hadn't felt ill. "Did you ah- make this?"

"What, don't believe I can cook?" Graverobber arched an eyebrow at her. "True, most of my culinary experiences are limited to what I find in dumpsters, but that doesn't mean I'm totally clueless. I'll let you know that soup came out of a non-dented can, from a perfectly clean—well, moderately tidy— all right, hardly had any questionable smells- grocery store."

Shilo managed a smile and a few spoonfuls of soup, then a few more. She realized she was waiting for the questions to start. She kept eating just to have something to do with her mouth, and after a several minutes she looked up from her half empty bowl. He was smiling at her in a way that made him look mildly amused; she was starting to think it was his default expression, at least where she was concerned.

"You're not going to ask me anything?" Shilo toyed with her spoon, willing her stomach to calm down. She didn't want to answer any questions about what had happened, she was still trying to sort out everything that had happened to her, the events that had so quickly spiraled to destruction.

"You don't have to tell me a thing, Kid, not unless you want to, and not **until** you want to." He cracked his knuckles and leaned forward in his chair. "I heard things though, while taking the long way home. Mostly rumors, some of which have been disproved by the simple fact that you're sitting here, in front of me, alive. Some of what I heard though might have some basis in fact."

Shilo tried not to flinch away when Graverobber put one cool hand against her forehead. She hadn't realized how warm she felt until then, and she was sweating as well as shaking.

"I lied Kid, I would like the answer to one question. They say your father was poisoning you, was that true?"

Shilo closed her eyes, tired again. "He said he was poisoning my medicine. All those years of thinking I was sick like Mom, and it was because… because he didn't want to let me go. And now I feel sick and I don't know how to make it stop."

Graverobber leaned back in his chair. "Sleep will help you, hell, it'll help me too, it's been quite an exhausting night for the both of us, yes?"

"I'm tired of being in bed all the time." Shilo whined, hating how young it made her sound, like a petulant child refusing to nap. "I've spent most of my life in bed."

"Kid, if there's one thing I've learned, never pass up the chance for a few hours of sleep in a comfortable bed, and Angel's bed is pretty comfortable. Of course, if you want something to compare it to you could always try out mine."

Shilo blushed and stood up as Graverobber gently leered at her. "Um—ah—I—"

"Relax, I was teasing. Mostly." The grin didn't leave his face, but it did fade in intensity. "Seriously though, the more rest you get now, the better you'll feel. It's going to take awhile until your body re-discovers what normal is."

"I don't think **I **know what normal is." Shilo didn't know what she expected in response, a joke maybe.

"No one knows what normal is, Kid, we just keep making up the definition as we go."

Shilo thought about that as she crawled back into bed next to a softly snoring Angel. Just a few days ago, "normal" meant being alone with only her Dad to rely on, being too sick to go outside, dreaming about the world outside. Everything was changing so quickly, what would "normal" look like tomorrow?


	8. Chapter 8

_Smoke clouds her vision, fills her lungs as she stumbles through the burning wreckage of what was once her home, her screams turning into wracking coughs. Her family, where is her family? Final dress rehearsal tonight, final, final, the stage is an inferno where only demons can dance. The explosion has rendered her deaf and she is nearly blind with tears and she is burning, ah God, they're burning and it's all her fault-_

Angel snapped awake, clutching the pillow so hard that her injured hand protested with a fresh burst of pain. She was breathing heavily, but not coughing from phantom smoke or screaming; progress.

Her mind was a fog of memory and dream, but her body still stubbornly held to old routines, getting out of bed and dressing itself, discarding the faded nightgown she had been wearing solely for the girl's benefit and trading it for one of many pairs of black tank tops and leggings. The concrete floor was cold on her bare feet as she walked over to the dust covered mirror, the light that filtered in from the small window near the ceiling reflected in the dim glass.

It would be dark soon, she could turn on a light but she didn't want to disturb the sleeping girl, who had been sleeping for most of the three days since Angel had found her, waking up long enough to eat before falling asleep again, disturbing Angel's own sleep with her nightmares and her sweating and shaking. Angel had wrapped her arms around the girl, whispered soothing, pretty words in her ear until her whimpers subsided. Withdrawal was a bitch with claws, Angel knew that all too well, and grief a vine filled with thorns. No one should have to feel both pains at once, but the girl was a fighter, of that Angel had no doubt.

Angel performed a series of stretches as her mind wandered, warming up the muscles in her arms and legs, trying desperately to un-kink her back as well, a perpetual task, but then, they had told her the risks— No, she wasn't going to think about that. Better to think about the stretching, better to let music fill her head and quiet her memories. She started to hum a tune from a show she had performed in long ago, the love/obsession/ loss theme from "An Opheliac Bound," as she continued warming up.

She didn't hear Shilo get out of bed, but she caught the movement in the mirror as the girl stood up, dressed in one of Angel's old shirts. The girl needed clothes, and her own bed, hell, even her own room, but she'd have to settle for two out of three. The loss of privacy was starting to make Angel feel a tad—prickly, but she tried her very best not to take it out on the girl. After all, it had been her brilliant idea to take in the girl in the first place.

"You might as well turn on the light if you're going to stare at me."

Shit. So much for not taking it out on the girl.

"S-sorry, I—"

The bedside lamp flicked on and Angel blinked as her eyes adjusted. "Don't apologize, I was being a bitch." She stretched her wings out to their full span, wingtips just brushing her wrists, then shifted slightly and felt them stretch towards the ceiling.

"How do they work?" Shilo's question ended with an abrupt squeak and a flinch, as if she was expecting to be snapped at. Angel sighed and folded her wings against her back before sitting on the bed, rubbing her temples against an oncoming headache.

"I'm sorry. I'm not used to— listen, sit down for a second? You look like you're going to rabbit out the door."

Shilo sat on the edge of the bed, still looking nervous. "I didn't mean to—"

"Upset me? I'm not upset at _you_. You _should_ ask questions, knowledge is both an effective tool and a powerful weapon in this world. I'm just not used to having to give answers anymore. It's not easy for me to remember certain things, impossible to forget other things, and it all hurts. So if you ask me a question, you'll get an answer… eventually. And I apologize in advance if I ever sound angry if you ask me something personal. Okay?"

Shilo nodded, looking thoughtful. "Does um… how does Graverobber react? To personal questions, I mean."

Angel grinned, an honest to goodness not fake grin as Shilo turned a faint pink. _Thank you for that, kid._ Her innocence was just so… cute. "Let's put it this way. In all the time I've spent with him and after all the various shit we've been though, I still don't even know the name he was born with. Pretty sure the world would end if he ever gave anyone a straight answer."

Angel stood and walked over to the closet, a strange combination of perfectly neat and orderly clothes combined with piles of jumbled together shoes. She had thrown something in there yesterday, but good luck finding it. "So enough girl talk, how are you feeling? You look better today." It wasn't a lie really, Shilo did look less pale, and she wasn't shaking like she had been.

"I think I feel okay? No cramps, not tired, breathing fine, that's what okay is supposed to feel like, right? I don't have to go back to bed, do I?"

"Nope, not unless you want to." Poor kid, she had been sick so long she hardly knew what well was. "Ah ha! Found it!" She tossed a half full, surprisingly clean garbage bag on the bed. "One of my favorite stores did inventory last night, were kind enough to give me some of the things they were going to throw out because they weren't in style anymore. Why don't you go into the bathroom and see if anything fits while I put on some real clothes."

Shilo clutched the bag with both hands. "Are we going somewhere? I mean, are the Gencops still looking for me?"

"I think the two of us can handle a couple of Gencops. It might help if we could do something about your hair though. Maybe you can find a hat in there or something." Personally, Angel was hoping she could convince the kid that wig shopping was in order; at least until they figured out if her own hair would grow back or not. She had a feeling she knew where the hair for Shilo's wig had come from and it was seriously unnerving. "I think it's time you started learning about the world kid, and your education starts tonight."

The girl looked both nervous and happy as she headed for the door. Angel felt the familiar ache of grief in her heart still, but somehow looking after the kid made it just a little easier to bear. She was still half smiling as she swapped leggings for leather pants, the well worn material a comfort to her. She grabbed her belt from the bedpost, buckling it and fiddling with the hang of the gun holster before retrieving her Zydrate gun and the last of her supply of the glowing blue drug which she tucked into the specially made pockets of her duster.

"Might as well do some business first, a night out is more fun with a little cash on hand," she said to herself as she strolled down the hallway and into the kitchen. Graverobber was already up, feet up on the table, reading the newspaper. He looked up when she came in, arching an eyebrow.

"Well well, aren't we looking lucid this evening?"

Angel flashed him a bitter smile. "Don't worry; I'm sure it'll pass soon enough." She found her boots, the leather scarred from abuse. She rubbed her feet for a moment (also scarred from abuse) before slipping on the boots and lacing them up. "Since when do we get the evening paper?"

"Since someone broke the television again. You want another one, it's your turn to find one that works and drag it all the way back here. Good luck with that. Until then it's all going to be rumors on the street and stolen newspapers."

Angel straightened up. "I'd trust the rumors over the paper any day." She walked over to the fridge, perusing the contents. "Right, I'm eating out again I see." Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Graverobber trying to hide the page he had just been reading. "It'll save you time, aggravation, and probably some pain if you either tell me what you're trying to hide or just show me."

"Can you blame me for wanting to preserve your good mood?" Graverobber asked as he handed her the front page.

Angel focused on the words in front of her, a task that became increasingly more difficult the more that she read. Not the blurb in the corner about Nathan Wallace being buried next to his wife. Not the bit about how the new head of GeneCo, Miss Amber Sweet, wanted Shilo Wallace found so she could be provided for, poor little orphan girl that she was. It was the main article. Blind Mag was going to be cremated and interred at the Largo's own private columbarium. The funeral and reception were tomorrow, admittance only be invitation or by outrageously expensive tickets.

Cremated.

_Fire all around her, smoke filling her lungs, she can't hear can't see can't breathe trapped trapped trapped pain burning—_

"Angel. Breathe. You're in the apartment. You're safe here."

She was gripping the table hard enough to hurt, chest aching, throat tight. Graverobber's dark eyes were looking into hers.

"She's gone Angel. Would you rather have her buried where any wanna be graverobbing punk would dig her up and harvest her Zydrate just to make a name for himself?"

Angel gasped, shaking with rage. "They're selling _tickets_. They made her life a show, can't they leave her in peace now that she's **dead**?"

Angel heard the click of the bathroom door opening. The girl. She didn't want to upset the girl. She unclenched her aching hands and slowed her breathing.

"I'm going out. C'mon Shilo. I just have a little business to take care of first, then dinner and a bit of… therapy."

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_A columbarium is a place for the respectful and usually public storage of urns holding a deceased's cremated remains. And no, Angel has not forgotten Shilo's question. More will be revealed, but next chapter is Graverobber's, of course. :)_


End file.
